


torche à flamme noire

by CampionSayn



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Episode: s03e19 Plus Est En Vous, Gen, Hector really can't catch a break, Hurt Varian (Disney), Lance is protective, Ruddiger is the smartest animal sidekick, hector needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: Hector has a worse time during the finale than in canon. And in some ways better. Kind of?
Relationships: Adira & Hector & Quirin (Disney: Tangled), Hector & Varian, Lance Strongbow & Varian
Comments: 15
Kudos: 168





	torche à flamme noire

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Pennumbra over at tumblr for this inspiration.

Light departing from all sides of vision, giving way to the truth in present…  
  
A purpose lost in the tide of consciousness, no longer absolute to the will of another pulling strings from what seems like some far distant shore….  
  
The great length of his arm sword stuck between him and what had been an enemy--who had been an enemy…  
  
Eyes bright as the luminescence in acid stretched wide in horror as Hector came back to himself; the sounds of the Moonstone’s bearer and their will fading out of him like poison from a wound and what lay before him leaving a pounding in his ears and all color draining from his face.  
  
There was a child before him, down on his knees with blood running out of him. Blood from the hand gripping his sword where Hector had run him through, his fingers tight to the metal to keep it steady; his other hand was occupied holding tight to what looked like a lever that was for the moment acting as a crutch.  
  
Blood from his mouth where labored breaths caused little drops to spatter on clothing much lighter than Hector had seen in years but for the trespassers into the Dark Kingdom.  
  
“Don’t you move. Don’t you **_dare_ ** move.”  
  
Hector flinched, just the barest quarter of movement, and blinked down to find a dark hand gripping his free wrist tight enough that he knew there would be ghastly bruising later; and at his throat a knife--no, a dagger gleaming--with the flat of the blade touching his skin and the sharp sides angled to do maximum damage if he intended to disobey.  
  
And he knew that voice, gods be damned.  
  
Granted, the last time he registered it, the man had been cowering in fear of Hector being possessed by the Great Tree and his tone had never been so serious.  
  
“Lance, I...I think it’s okay...”  
  
Blue eyes that seemed grey as his whole form paled with every drop of blood lost, blinked up at Hector, meeting his sight steadily, despite the obvious agony he was without a doubt consumed with.  
  
“I think he’s back to normal.”  
  
The fact that the--fucking tiny, so small, fuck, what had Hector been doing all this time--kid was able to smile encouragingly at him almost made the knight of the Brotherhood vomit.  
  


* * *

  
  
His hands didn’t shake when the child pulled the lever to call back the citizens of Corona that had been sucked through the portal into another place of being before Hector had gotten there to mindlessly follow the orders of the wielder of the Mind Trap. His hands didn’t shake when a great beast almost set upon him at the sight of the child injured and Hector the source of it; massive claws and teeth nearly making contact before the other man, Lance, ordered him to stop, “We need to get the sword out, buddy. Can you change back and get some of Varian’s supplies?”  
  
Hector would have almost preferred to offer up some kind of reaction when Lance let him go when he promised he was in control of himself, “The Mind Trap has been destroyed, I don’t want to kill a child. I’ll do what you tell me to,” other than the man staring at him for a mere second and then releasing him, fingernails leaving crescents in Hector’s skin as the dagger was sheathed; soft eyes focused on the boy above all else.  
  
It made sense, Hector supposed. Adira wouldn’t trust the man for nothing.  
  
“Okay, then,” the man, Lance, breathed in deep before addressing the crowd that had almost equally horrified looks at the scene before them, “Rapunzel isn’t here yet, and Eugene will probably be back here soon with reinforcements. Go find some weapons to prepare for our next attack while I--we,” he emphasized as the beast that had almost attacked Hector swallowed some bright glowing liquid and turned into a _raccoon_ , dragging a bag twice its own size over to the boy, removed a pair of gloves and goggles and put them on itself _(this was insane, Hector was pretty sure he’d lost his mind),_ “Take care care of this.”  
  
Nobody moved.  
  
“ ** _Now_ **.”  
  
The tone in his voice had the desired effect, most everyone scrambling away looking for weapons and the like, offering murmurs of good luck over their shoulder.  
  
All dispersed, except five.  
  
Two guards with the armor of Corona, two children obviously younger than the one injured on his knees, and a brunette woman in clothing that had probably once been fine but was covered in dirt and snags.  
  
Hector looked away as Lance seemed much less sure of what to do, speaking lowly with the girls out of ear-shot as the two guards spoke to the woman--the queen apparently, if he was reading the body language and scene correctly--as she approached the raccoon. The raccoon that was pulling vials of liquid from the bag he’d brought over, bringing out handkerchiefs to set them on, gauze from one pocket, and something metal and heavy looking that Hector couldn’t identify.  
  
The knight of the Dark Kingdom looked back at the boy, and the nausea that had been fading returned to him.  
  
He was still conscious and alert, but it seemed only just barely. The hand that had pulled the lever had joined its twin in clutching the sword and his eyelids were drooping dangerously.  
  
“Hey, kid,” Hector spoke up, instinct from a long time ago when he was actually around people without fighting them off finding its feet in him, “What’s your name?”  
  
“V-Varian,” he replied after a moment, groggy, tongue heavy with his own blood, but alert enough to understand his surroundings, “Sir.”  
  
“Okay, Varian. I’m going to try and keep you talking, because I’m pretty sure you’ll be going into shock in a few minutes if your mind isn’t active,” Blunt, but Hector had grown up with Adira, why bother with anything else in a moment of emergency Hector caused while being mind controlled.  
  
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, actually,” the queen spoke up finally, helping the raccoon bring over the gauze, two deep blue colored vials and that thing Hector didn’t recognize.  
  
Hector eyed her and the way she was trying to keep up a smile that seemed more a grimace, the younger looking knight that had followed her over coming up beside Hector, two-handed ax set to the side; the other guard and Lance having been given another vial by the raccoon, drawing up their sleeves and removing gloves as needed. They were spreading what was in the vial over their hands and wrists and Hector could vaguely register it smelled a bit like medicine for wound cleaning.  
  
“Can you tell me what the hell is going on? I’ve not been myself for what seems like some time.”  
  
The younger guard took Varian’s slight pause to lean in close to Hector’s ear, “I’m going to pull up your sleeve and undo the straps to your arm sword. Can you hold still for that?”  
  
There was the barest of nods from Hector as Varian tried to explain as best he could, the guard doing what he said, Lance and the other moving in front and behind Varian. The queen had started applying the vial solution to her own hands, gauze at the ready in her lap, determined expression on her face.  
  
The raccoon had taken a pair of scissors from the pack, carefully cutting the fabric around the wound that clung to the boy and then took out a handkerchief, uncorking a vial and dousing the fabric in deep purple liquid that Hector _absolutely_ remembered from his time in the Brotherhood.  
  
 **Fuck** .  
  


* * *

  
  
Zhan Tiri had been real. Adira had been right. King Edmund was alive and hale and his son was part of the group at the Great Tree.  
  
Quirin had become the leader of Old Corona. Quirin had a son.  
  
 _Hector had stabbed Quirin’s son._  
  
The shaking and the nausea had returned ten-fold once Varian’s screaming had stopped _(worse than a fox caught in a trap, worse than a rabbit being torn apart by dogs, worse than King Edmund himself at the loss of his wife)_ and Hector had turned away for just a moment--he just needed a moment…  
  
It was like time had stopped as his eyes found three figures of his past standing, horrified, in the opening to the castle.  
  
“ _VARIAN_ !”  
  
There was an defined emotion, just one, Hector felt at that scream, that scream coming from Quirin of all people, as the man he hadn’t seen in years had such a look of agony and rage and fear all mixed up and congregating on his face and written across his very being in launching himself across the expanse between them: shame.  
  
What happened after that, between Quirin making contact with the boy and the castle falling apart and the battle and the victory, was little more than a blur to Hector.  
  
But the shame clung to him all the way into the evening, a strange place to be after such an eclipse and all that had happened.  
  
Hector was honestly surprised, in the end, that he lasted as long as he did before breaking down away from the festivities of celebration and of victory, to find some secluded place while nobody was looking.  
  
Whereupon he vomited what little had been in his stomach for quite some time, mostly water and acid, dry heaving for minutes before stumbling away from the mess on the ground to collapse on his ass and sob into his hands like some infant.  
  
Thus it was for what could have been hours or minutes, simply weeping, before he felt the presence of another before and beside him.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”  
  
“It really wasn’t. And even if it was, fault really isn’t the point here.”  
  
Hector gave something like a hysterical giggle into his hands, rubbing away some of the disgusting tears from his eyes--that had yet to cease their falling--to look up at Adira beside him and Quirin before him. Their bulk was warm and familiar and terrifying in all of an instant that he was suffocating and content within all at once.  
  
“I’m sorry, Quirin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry--”  
  
“I know, Hector, I know.”  
  
But Hector couldn’t stop, words clogging up and spilling out of his throat, like the turn of a tide he might drown in if he didn’t relieve the pressure.  
  
“I was wrong about everything! I was wrong, and I attacked King Edmund’s son, and I ran your son through with a sword and I--” he turned to Adira, leaning against him, and clutched at her hand that had been set on his shoulder, surprising her but not enough for her to pull away, “I hurt you, Adira...and I wasted so many years. I was wrong and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m s-o-sorry, I’m so-so s-sorry…”  
  
He couldn’t _breathe_ .  
  
“I forgive you your trespasses, Hector. I always have,” Adira spoke, still holding his hand, but also bringing the other around his side to hug him, her temple finding his and remaining firmly there so he could hear her breathing and feel her presence much like when there were but children.  
  
He still found it difficult, but he tried his best, taking in air and trying to let it go.  
  
Then Quirin moved just so, expertly positioning himself so he was wrapped around both of them, his forehead touching Hector’s own briefly before he nuzzled the crown of pitch black hair, squeezing both of them with warmth and protection Hector had felt like he’d forgotten before that moment.  
  
“As Varian’s the one that said you were out here, and he forgave you before it happened, then so do I. That, and I missed you.”  
  
Hector had no words, nothing he could say to kindness and forgiveness given so easily. So he said nothing, but clutched the two of them closer, just soaking in the moment to remember it forever.  
  
He’d missed them, too.


End file.
